


Chkhartishvili's

by Bluesummers



Category: The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: Could Be Canon, Cybersex, M/M, One Shot, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 15:55:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9332432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluesummers/pseuds/Bluesummers
Summary: Quentin and Eliot write their own fanfiction.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The Magicians.

It was unusually cold for November, and Quentin was freezing underneath his blanket. His endless thoughts made it impossible to fall asleep, yet unbearable to stay awake. During the day, Quentin promised himself to read _History of Magic_ all through the night and get ahead in his studies. But as soon as the sun set, he couldn't even bring himself to flip through _The World in the Walls_. He just lay there, unmoving, curled with his head against the pillow in an uncomfortable angle, staring straight at the far-too-bright laptop screen next to him. He didn't bother to move his arm and close the lid. It was too cold, and everything felt too heavy.

Somewhere in the house, his parents laughed. It felt so faint and distant. Farther than Brakebills. Farther even than Fillory.

He felt so utterly useless, so disgustingly lazy. His chest suddenly ached.

Quentin shut his eyes.

When he opened them, there was a new chat window on his laptop screen.

Eliot: I'm bored.

Quentin straightened up a bit in his bed. Eliot hardly ever wrote anything, let alone started a conversation. For a moment, Quentin wondered if he should even dignify him with a reply. Yet there was something about Eliot's conduct Quentin could never quite resist, not even when filtered through a computer. He pulled the laptop closer under the blanket, so that his fingers wouldn't be completely numb as he typed a response.

Quentin: No, you're _boring_.

How absolutely lame. He should have come up with a wittier comment. Soon enough Eliot was going to get bored with him, too.

Eliot: Oh? And what are you doing at 3AM that's so interesting?

There was really no use trying to make something up.

Quentin: Staring at my ceiling.

Eliot: Please say no more. I felt sorry enough for you when I thought you were re-reading one of your books.

For some reason, that made Quentin smile. He forgot how easy it's been for him to talk with Eliot.

Quentin: It's too cold to do anything. I'm scared the moment I'll get out of bed my dick will freeze off.

This time it took Eliot an entire minute to answer.

Eliot: You should come back. Here it's so hot I spent the entire day in my underwear.

Quentin: Really? I can't imagine you without one of your precious shirts on.

Eliot: Hmm. Can't you?

Quentin swallowed back a lump in his throat. He suddenly felt the need to rearrange. He sat up with his back against the chilly wall and propped his laptop on his lap. He should probably change the subject.

Quentin: It can't be that fun over there if you're suddenly talking to me after all this time.

That came out too aggressive. Though to be honest, Quentin _was_ pretty annoyed by Eliot's whole manner toward him this past year. He often wished he could just ask Eliot about it, but now that he finally brought it up, Eliot wasn't replying.

Quentin: Is it because I was just sorted into Physical?

Eliot probably lingered only for a minute, but it felt longer for Quentin, who began to believe the older boy really just didn't like him. Alone in his room, he felt impatient and cold and rejected.

Quentin: Am I good enough to be your friend now?

He shouldn't have written that. No one liked that miserable, whiney attitude.

Eliot: You sound stressed, Quentin. You should unwind.

He could just picture Eliot sitting there, all condescending and smug and completely unfazed by Quentin's childish outburst. He was blowing away cigarette smoke, too. Quentin was certain of it.

Eliot: Just come back. Or masturbate. Or both.

Quentin couldn’t seem to remember whether Eliot was always this provocative, but felt the need to change the subject again.

Quentin: How do you even have a functioning computer over there?

Eliot: The place is empty, no one's doing magic.

Eliot didn't miss a bit before moving on.

Eliot: I'm serious, you know. I bet you have an entire go-to fantasy about Fiona.

That was mean. And true. Eliot was so casually messing with him, and Quentin wanted to get even.

Eliot: Is it, like, super weird? With tailed elves and stuff?

Quentin: You're one to talk.

The blanket fell off Quentin's shoulder. The frost hit his skin through the fabric of his shirt, but he barely noticed.

Quentin: I know all about _your_ weird fantasy.

This time when Eliot didn't answer, Quentin took it for alarm. He felt giddy, imagining Eliot's shock. He never had the upper hand on Eliot before, and now that he did, he wanted to enjoy it. He forgot all about the weather and Brooklyn and his tiny room.

Quentin: I saw you.

He smirked. Eliot must have the most stupid look on his face right now.

Quentin: In the observatory.

He leaned back, feeling victorious. That didn't last long.

Eliot: Your little rant earlier… are you really hurt because I ignored you at school, or is it because I never came on to you?

Shit. That guy could be so fucking perceptive when it came to things that concerned him. Even hiding behind his computer, Quentin was nervous and blushing. What should he say? He didn't want to come off as too defensive, but he also didn't want to give Eliot the wrong impression, like he actually wanted him… He should probably brush it off. Tell Eliot it would have been nice of him to offer. Just joke about it.

Eliot: I see.

Too slow. Quentin was aware of the chill again.

Eliot: Did you watch?

Quentin closed his eyes.

Quentin: Some of it.

Eliot: What did you see?

Quentin: I really don't want to talk about it.

Eliot: You brought it up.

A few seconds passed.

Eliot: I want to know.

Quentin stared at the screen.

Eliot: Please?

Fuck.

Quentin: Alright.

Eliot: And be specific.

Quentin's blood rushed to his face. He was probably completely red. But there was really no way around it. He took a deep breath.

Quentin: You were about to suck someone off. Something about chores. You were being childlike.

Eliot: Bravo, Quentin, that's some fine erotic literature right there.

Quentin laughed stiffly.

Quentin: Shut up.

Eliot: Really? _You're_ acting all embarrassed about it?

Quentin: Sorry. Are you embarrassed?

Eliot: Not remotely.

Quentin wished he could see Eliot's face so he could tell if he was lying. He ran a hand through his hair.

Eliot: Have you ever thought about it afterwards?

Quentin: What do you mean?

Eliot: I mean, have you ever masturbated while thinking about it.

A shiver ran down Quentin's spine. It was just the cold…

Eliot: About me.

He had to answer. Last time he didn't, Eliot figured out the truth by himself.

Quentin: Yes…

He was a teenager. And it didn't happen much. But it _did_ happen.

Eliot: Touched yourself and imagined it was my hand?

Quentin: Yes…

Eliot: That it had been you in that chair?

Quentin shifted uneasily, and froze. There was a slight discomfort in his pants. He was getting erect without even noticing it. But he's been so anxious, so absolutely mortified by his own statements and reactions… why and when did it happen?

Quentin: Yes.

Insecurity and worry filled him when he thought about Eliot's next answer. Still, he had to know, and now was his moment.

Quentin: Have you ever thought about me?

His heart clenched.

Eliot: Yes.

Quentin stared at that single word for god-knows-how-long before realizing he was smiling like an idiot.

Eliot: Remember that day we sailed on the river together?

Quentin: Of course.

Considering how tense he was just a moment ago, thinking about that day suddenly made Quentin very comfortable. Warm, even.

Eliot: It was already winter for everyone around us but we were basking in the sun.

Quentin: I remember. You were lying back in that dressing gown. You told me about your family.

Eliot: I felt safe around you.

Quentin wasn't sure what to say to something like that.

Eliot: What if I touched you then? Nothing much. Just aligned my foot against yours.

Quentin: I'd probably try to read your expression. See if it was on purpose.

Eliot: I'm not even looking your way. I look off the boat, at the view, completely relaxed.

Quentin: Then I do nothing. I just stay there like that.

Quentin had no illusions as to where this was going. He knew exactly what they were about to do and surprisingly, it didn't bother him one bit. Fuck, maybe he _did_ want Eliot.

Eliot: At first I just stay like this, too. But then I move my leg closer. I gently run my ankle against yours.

Quentin: I'm surprised. Nervous, even. But I don't push you away. I can't push you away. I want your approval too much.

Quentin's hands shook slightly when he typed, but he couldn't help his honesty, not after the conversation they just had. His heart was beating fast.

Eliot: I continue to rub our legs together. Only now I'm looking up at you, right into your eyes.

A heat spread through Quentin's body.

Quentin: I'm looking straight at you, too.

Quentin really couldn't deny his excitement now. He pictured Eliot, not on the boat but in Brakebills, in front of his own laptop, thinking about him.

Something just occurred to Quentin. 

Quentin: Eliot?

Eliot: Yes?

Quentin: Are you really in your underwear?

Eliot: Oh, Quentin… not for long.

Quentin sighed.

Eliot: I pull back my leg, only to reach between your thighs and slide my bare foot up against your groin.

He didn't mean to do it so soon, but he couldn't hold himself back. He reached down and grabbed himself over his pants, just like Eliot was describing, gasping at the contact.

Quentin: Eliot, I'm hard.

Eliot: I know. I can feel it.

He didn't dare touch himself more than that. Not unless Eliot did it first.

Eliot: I apply some pressure as my foot massages you. My eyes never leave yours.

Quentin sighed again as he palmed himself over his clothed erection.

He needed direct contact. Badly. He groaned just thinking about it.

He quickly typed with one hand.

Quentin: I rock up into your leg. I want more.

Eliot: Hmm…

Quentin stared expectantly, his labored breathing echoing in his ears.

Eliot: What is it that you want, exactly?

He was beyond coyness now.

Quentin: I want you to suck me off.

Eliot: Well, I do give the most incredible head. Or so I'm told.

Quentin waited for more. None came. He grunted.

Quentin: Well? Get on with it.

Eliot: Quentin. I thought you saw what I liked.

He did.

Quentin: I move your leg away. I lean forward and grab you by the collar, pulling you up. You're sitting between my legs.

Eliot: Yes…

Quentin: I said _suck_.

He hoped he really was doing it well. He wanted to impress Eliot.

Eliot: I shudder and hurriedly unbutton your pants. I pull them down as far as I can.

Quentin wasted no time, mimicking Eliot's actions.

Eliot: The moment I see your cock I place my face against it. It's so hard and hot against my skin. I turn my eyes up to look up at you from between your thighs.

God, he wanted Eliot to touch him. How could he ever think that he didn't…?

Eliot: Still looking at you, I run my lips against your tip. I suck gently.

Quentin: I fist your hair and bring you down on my length, all the way.

He finally grabbed himself and moaned.

Eliot: You slide in easily and hit the back of my throat. My tongue is flat against your cock. I don't try to pull back.

Quentin: Good. My hand is still in your hair. I hold your head there, tight against me.

Eliot: I close my eyes and moan as I stay in place and begin to suck.

Quentin stroked himself with one hand and pulled the blanket down with the other, letting it pile in his lap. He could see his fist moving beneath it. It was getting so unbelievably hot, but he needed the blanket on him there, needed to feel the warmth. After all, that was Eliot's _mouth_ over him.

Quentin: People hear the noises you make. Some of them look over. They can see what's going on. They can see you pleasuring me.

Eliot: I don't care. I suck you harder. I moan and suck and lick your cock like it's the sweetest thing I've ever tasted.

Not thinking about where he was, Quentin tightened his grip and cried out loudly.

Eliot: I pull back to lick your slit, then move my head up and down, fast. I take you in deep every time.

Quentin's thumb played at his tip whenever his hand went up.

Eliot: I want to touch more of you. I palm your balls and drag a finger behind them.

He repeated every movement Eliot described. It felt incredible. He was so close. Still…

Quentin: What about you?

Eliot: I can't answer with my mouth stuffed with your cock, but when you look down you can see I'm stroking myself. I'm hard and dripping and close. I don't need anything else. I can come just from sucking you.

Quentin: I watch you move on me, burying myself deep in your head every time. I'm close, too.

Eliot: I can't wait for you to come in my mouth. I'll take it, all of it.

Quentin: I seize you by the nape and make you move faster. Lower. I don't care if you like it. My hand fists in your hair. Hard and rough. Until it hurts.

Eliot: Oh fuck, Q…

Quentin closed his eyes. He brought back his hand to fully touch himself. His length. His balls. It was Eliot's hands on him. Eliot's heat. He was panting and gasping. Sweat ran down his skin. His mouth fell open. He moved his hand faster. All he could feel, all he could think about was the pleasure.

And suddenly he fell apart. He tensed and he shuddered. His mind was foggy as his seed hit his shirt. He fell back onto his pillow and stayed there, with his eyes shut, unthinking, floating.

When his breathing relaxed and reality re-emerged around him, he opened his eyes and saw Eliot's last message hovering before him, still there on the screen.

_Oh fuck, Q…_

Quentin wasn't sure how long it's been. Was Eliot still there?

Quentin: Eliot?

He took some deep breaths while he waited.

Eliot: Yes?

Quentin: Did you come?

He could kind of hear Eliot's soft laugh. He thought about the other boy's twisted smile.

Eliot: Naturally.

Eliot didn't return the question. He was pretty sure of himself. Or pretended to be.

Quentin: Have you ever done this before?

Eliot: You mean fellatio on a boat?

Quentin knew this was all the answer he was going to get, so he just chuckled.

Eliot: It was good.

He silently thanked Eliot for saying that.

Eliot: Can you fall asleep now?

Quentin: Yeah. You?

Eliot: Yes.

Quentin: It was really good.

Eliot: Goodnight.

Quentin: Goodnight.

Quentin took off his soiled shirt and pulled the blanket over himself. He kept the laptop open next to him when he lay down. In some weird way it made him feel as if Eliot was still sitting there on the other side, or maybe even here with him, keeping him company. It made everything bearable, a tiny bit less lonely.

In the moments before sleep, Quentin vaguely wondered if Eliot had planned it all, if this was why he sent him that message in the first place. It meant that Eliot wanted him, that he'd chosen him… even if only for one night. 

Quentin reached out and brushed the laptop with his fingertips. It felt warm.

And just like that he fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> So that was my first fanfic ever...  
> I just had to write it because there's hardly any Quentin/Eliot fiction out there. And now that I have, I want MORE.  
> To whomever out there that ships them, I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> P.S.  
> English isn't my first language but I don't know anyone who can beta for me, so I'm sorry for any errors.
> 
> Added:  
> I wrote this as a fan of the books, but decided to tag the television show since I find I enjoy reading fanfics for both.


End file.
